


Secret Santa

by jamiecritchey



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiecritchey/pseuds/jamiecritchey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gives Blair a special gift in the Major Crimes Secret Santa gift exchange, acceptance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Santa

Secret Santa  
by Jamie Ritchey

 

Summary: As the holidays approach, Jim discovers the perfect gift for Blair. Rated PG.

Author's notes: Originally appeared in Essential Sentinel 6.

Disclaimer: The characters of Jim and Blair do not belong to me, but to Pet Fly and Paramount.

 

Jim Ellison opened bleary eyes and peered over the back of the couch, his much needed mid-afternoon nap interrupted by the huffing and puffing noises coming from the hallway outside. He'd been subliminally aware of the sound of Blair's Corvair even before it had pulled into the parking lot below, but his conscious mind hadn't risen to reluctant wakefulness until shuffling footsteps paused right outside the front door. The discordant jangling of keys was accompanied by an insistent voice, pleading "Whoa, whoa. Stay. We're almost home." It came as no surprise when the door swung open and his roommate staggered inside burdened with a huge cardboard box full of stacks of bluebooks with several festively wrapped packages precariously balanced on top. Blair bumped the door closed with his butt, then with a heartfelt "Oof" dumped the box on the kitchen island.

"Hey Chief. You dropped something", Jim called as he waggled an index finger at a small box wrapped in shiny paper sporting cavorting reindeer that had escaped from the rest of its fellows and rolled across the floor to hide under the coat rack.

Blair looked at Jim, glanced over to where Jim was oh so helpfully pointing, then turned back with raised eyebrows at his reclining roommate.

"Thanks, big guy. I never would have found it without those Sentinel eyes of yours," he grumbled with good-natured sarcasm as he yanked off his gloves and shoved them deep in his coat pockets. After hanging his brown corduroy jacket on the hook next to Jim's leather one, he bent down to retrieve his escapee.

"Anytime, Chief," Jim answered with mock humility while keeping a close eye on the Mt. Vesuvius of exams threatening to explode all over his kitchen. While he had to acknowledge that Blair's attempts at picking up after himself had improved after their little housebreaking discussion during that case on the oil rig, their comfort levels of cleanliness were still poles apart. With a silent sigh of relief, he watched Blair pick up the box and carry it into his bedroom. He guessed from the gift wrapped packages on top that a few of Blair's students had tried to butter up the teacher with Christmas presents, maybe help their grade. That wasn't Blair's style, but they tried anyway. And Blair was really popular too. Some of the gifts were probably sincerely given.

Content that his home was safe, at least for now, from a hurricane of paper, Jim settled his head back down on the throw pillow and closed his eyes. A couple of minutes later he heard Blair sit down on the coffee table next to his head.

"You get any sleep?" Blair asked, his voice quiet but concerned. "You were still on stake-out when I left for Rainier this morning, and your next shift starts pretty soon."

"A couple of hours," Jim replied around a cavernous yawn. "I'll be glad when Brown gets back. His mom is supposed to be released from the hospital today." Resigned to the fact that his nap was over, Jim sat up and scrubbed at his face with his hands, attempting to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.

"You finished for the semester, now?" Jim asked, rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out. Final examinations, both given and taken, had occupied so much of his friend's time, Jim had barely seen him for several days.

"Almost. I gave my last final this afternoon. All I have left is a marathon grading session and I'll be free for the next four weeks," Blair said with a nod towards the exam booklets waiting in his room. He leaned forward, getting a closer look at Jim's face, frowning at the lines of exhaustion that framed his partner's eyes and mouth.

"Everything okay? Any problems with your senses? You haven't had any zone-outs, have you?" Blair's speech became faster and faster as he expressed his concern over his friend's well-being. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to be around much the last couple of weeks, but that's over now. I can grade papers anywhere if you need me to go down to the precinct with you."

Jim raised his hands as if to block the flow of words cascading over him. "Not necessary, Chief. We busted Brander and his cronies last night. With the evidence we got at the scene, this case is all wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Jim pushed his weary body to his feet and dragged himself into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. "I just have to finish up my reports and I'm free till tomorrow. I thought I'd use the time to find a present for that stupid Secret Santa gift exchange at work, then maybe pick us up some dinner on the way home. What're you hungry for?"

"Anything's fine," Blair said, following him into the kitchen.

Jim busied himself with the coffee preparations, still mildly irritated that Blair had not been included in the annual Major Crime Christmas gift name drawing. Why Blair's exclusion bothered him, he couldn't say. To the rest of the department, Blair was just Jim's tag-along, but sometime in the last nine months of working together Jim had begun to think of the man as his partner. Blair had just shrugged it off with his usual line of BS about 'closed societies' and 'brothers in blue participating in communal rituals' and �hey, I'm strictly the observer here". But there had been a wistful look in Blair's eyes as he had deftly changed the subject of conversation.

Blair pulled down two mugs and reached for the carafe to fill them with the steaming coffee. Handing Jim his, Blair sipped while he walked towards his room. He paused at his bedroom doorway and threw a look back, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "You're sure you don't need me? You look pretty tired."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately, Sandburg? You're pulling the same kind of crappy hours you did during finals last May."

"Chill, man. Don't get your fur all ruffled. I've been pacing myself."

"That's what you call pacing? I call it running around in circles," Jim remarked.

Blair made circular motions next to his head with his finger, mocking Jim's concerns. They had gone round and round with this argument before.

Back in the spring, Jim had been alarmed at the amount of work his newly acquired roommate had crammed into such a short amount of time, only to see him crash and burn, sleeping for twenty-four hours straight. He didn't plan to allow Blair to drive himself to that level of exhaustion this semester. If he didn't hear Blair put down his red pencil by a reasonable hour tonight, Jim was going to turn the lights off himself, even if he had to flip the breakers to make his point.

"I'm on the home stretch, just a couple more days," Blair insisted. "I'm just going to settle in with my little bluebook friends until you get home," he added as he disappeared through the french doors to his room.

"You and your friends have a wonderful time," Jim replied, raising his mug in a toast as he headed toward the bathroom and a hot shower before heading upstairs to change and get back to the station.

 

The bullpen was bustling with its usual activity as Jim walked in the door of Major Crime. The satisfaction of a job well done permeated the atmosphere after last night's arrest. Putting Brander behind bars had turned a potentially bleak Christmas into a bright one for the Major Crimes gang. That scumbag had been responsible for a particularly lethal influx of drugs that had caused several deaths, especially among the younger crowd. The drug dealer had slipped through their fingers more than once the last few months. Getting his poison off the streets was the bow on the Christmas present, as far as Jim was concerned.

Settling at his desk, Jim powered up his computer and started writing up his report. His economical way with words had him finished in a short time, and he saved and printed, slipping the pages into a CPD folder on his way to Simon's office. Jim knocked and opened the door without waiting, his hearing having let him know that only Simon and Joel were in there, sharing war stories.

"Here's my report, Simon. I'll be heading out, now," Jim said, laying the folder on Simon's desk.

Simon picked it up and glanced through it. After a few moments, he started shaking his head and chuckling.

"What?" Jim straightened and crossed his arms defensively. "Something wrong?"

"No, no," Simon answered, a hand raised in a placating gesture. "It's just that you can tell the kid didn't write this one for you." Simon grinned over at Taggart, who was chortling from his chair in front of Simon's desk.

"I was writing my own reports long before Sandburg came on board," Jim replied indignantly.

"And there hasn't been much improvement under his influence," Simon retorted with his low rumbling chuckle. "Though I can tell he's taught you how to use the spell checker."

"Hey, do you want facts or fucking Mickey Spillane?" Jim protested.

Simon rose to his full height, his _expression sober, obviously restraining his anger. "Wait a minute, Jim. What's got you so riled? I was just teasing."

Jim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, sir. What I said was out of line," he apologized, unable to meet Simon's eyes.

"Apology accepted," Simon responded. "Now, sit down and tell me what's got you so touchy."

"It's nothing, really," Jim said as he settled in the chair next to Taggart and Simon returned to his seat. "I mean, if Sandburg isn't making a big deal out of it, I shouldn't either. Besides, I don't want him to think I'm going behind his back."

"I've been wondering why I haven't seen much of the kid lately," Taggart commented. "If something's wrong, I'd like to help."

"He hasn't had time to come in with me. It's the usual end of the semester crap. He gave his last final today and has to get his exams graded and the grades posted before the weekend. I probably won't see much of him myself for the next couple of days."

"He's become such a fixture around here that I sometimes forget that he has a whole other life outside the PD," Taggart said with a smile.

"Well, that's kinda my point. If he's such a fixture here, why wasn't his name included in the Secret Santa gift exchange?" Jim asked, looking at Simon.

"Um..well..I wasn't sure he wanted to be, being Jewish and all," Simon said, glancing over to Taggart for some support, but finding he wasn't getting any.

"That doesn't stop Rosenbaum or Solomon from being included," Jim pointed out. "Blair acted like it didn't bother him, but I could tell he was disappointed,"

"And remember how he jumped out of a plane over Peru so he could help Jim find you and Daryl," Taggart added. "Though he may not be a cop, he is a good friend."

Jim leaned forward, ready to add more ammunition to his argument. "You even told his mother, right here in this office, that you consider him a part of the team. Were you just saying that or did you mean it?"

"Hold on, hold on. I get it," Simon said, waving his big right hand like a stop sign. "You're right. But what can we do about it now? The names have all been drawn."

Jim shrugged. "I can bring a gift for him to open, but he'll think we're feeling sorry for him, especially if he hasn't drawn a name to bring a gift for."

Taggart gave Jim's shoulder a pat. "Why don't you let Simon and I work on it a bit? I'm sure between the two of us, we can come up with a solution. And don't worry about bringing a gift for Blair. We'll take care of it."

"Okay, and thanks. I appreciate you taking this seriously. Oh, and whatever you do," Jim said, getting up to leave, "don't get him a t-shirt that says 'Teachers Do It With Class'. He has about seven of them. Apparently, college students have no imaginations."

 

Jim had just pulled dinner out of the oven and was setting it on the table when the smell of cigars wafted in from the hallway outside the loft. It wasn't that long ago when strong odors could bring him to his knees. Thanks to Blair, dialing things down had become second nature. Grinning, he crossed to the door and opened it just as his boss raised his hand to knock.

"You know I hate it when you do that," Simon bristled.

"Why do you think I keep doing it?" Jim answered cheekily. He gestured Simon in towards the table. "We were just about to have dinner. Want to join us?"

"Thanks, but I won't be here long," Simon said. He nodded towards the French doors to Blair's room. "Sandburg in there?"

"Is this about the gift exchange?" Jim said, lowering his voice.

"Yeah," Simon nodded. "Joel and I think we've come up with a way to include him without making it look like an afterthought. Get him out here and we'll see if it works."

"Great timing. I was just going to pry him loose from his paperwork," Jim said, heading toward Blair's room. "If I don't, he'll forget to eat."

Simon just shook his head in wonder. As the father of a growing teenager, a young man forgetting to eat was a foreign concept.

Jim gently rapped on the slightly open door. "Chief, time for a break. Dinner's ready."

"There in a minute, Jim," a distracted voice sounded off from the room.

Jim glanced back at Simon and gave him an 'I told you so' look, then pushed open the door and walked over to his oblivious roommate. He snatched the red pencil Blair held poised over the bluebook he was intently reading, causing Blair to look up with a glare.

"Hey! What did you do that for?" he said, puzzled.

"It's time to take a break. Food's on the table," Jim said, turning back toward the doors he had left open, still holding the red pencil hostage.

"All you had to do was say so," Blair grumbled as he followed Jim out the doors. "Grabbing a man's writing implement is so uncool." Taking his seat, he added, "Hey, Simon. When did you get here?"

Simon shared a knowing look with Jim. "I was just updating Jim on a case Taggart and I were working on earlier."

Jim passed him a beer, then placed two more on the table for Blair and himself. Settling in his place, he asked "Anything else I need to know?"

"No. If all goes according to plan, we should be able to bring this operation to a successful conclusion soon," Simon replied, opening his beer and taking a seat at the table.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Blair asked.

"No. We've got it covered," Simon said. "But you can help with something else."

"Sure, Simon. Whatever you need," Blair said enthusiastically.

"Did you draw a name from the Secret Santa box on Rhonda's desk?" Simon asked.

"Uhhm....no," Blair stammered, confused. "It was empty by the time I could get to the station."

"Well then, this name must belong to you," Simon said as he pulled a folded scrap of paper no bigger than the tip of his finger from his inside coat pocket. "It was found on the floor under the desk. Someone must have accidentally dropped it when they drew their own."

"Are you sure this is for me?" Blair said. "I'm sorry I haven't had much time to spend with Jim on the job, but you know what it's like right now. I thought everyone had already drawn."

"I checked. You're the only one of my people who doesn't have a name yet." Simon handed the paper over to Blair and settled back in his chair with the self-satisfied air of a mystery solved.

Blair held it in his hand for a moment as if it were something precious. Looking over at Jim to see if he knew about this ahead of time, he found his roommate studiously shoveling food into his mouth. Turning back to Simon, he said, "thanks for bringing this by, Simon. I'll be sure to get something as soon as I finish grading."

"Good," Simon said, getting up to leave. "I wouldn't want anyone to miss out on having something under the tree on Christmas Eve."

Simon paused at the door. "Remember, $15 max. It's the thought that counts. I'll see you two later. Don't work too hard, Sandburg." He waved his good-bye and went out the door.

Blair opened the scrap of paper and read the name, then placed it in a front pocket of his flannel shirt with a nervous grin. Taking a swig of his beer, he returned to his meal.

"Whose name did you get, Chief?" Jim asked, pointing at the pocket with his fork.

"Uh-uh. We're not supposed to say. That's why they call it the Secret Santa gift exchange," Blair said with a smirk.

"Just trying to help. I've known those people longer. I could give you suggestions as to what they might like," Jim insisted.

"Nope," Blair replied. "If I listened to you, my giftee would probably end up with a jumbo size package of white socks."

"Suit yourself," Jim said with a shrug. He went back to finishing his meal, his heart much lighter than it had been earlier that afternoon.

 

It was Christmas Eve and, throughout the day, the break room in Major Crime had slowly been filling up with cakes, cookies, as well as various salads and vegetable dishes. It was tradition for the squad Captain to provide the turkey or ham, but everyone else pitched in to provide the rest of the feast and this year was no exception.

Jim and Blair walked in and spent a moment just inhaling all the wonderful aromas that filled the air. It was a treat even to someone who wasn't a Sentinel.

Henri Brown walked up behind them and poked Jim in the back. "Hey, man. Putting roadblocks between a man and his turkey and dressing is dangerous."

Jim grabbed Blair and pulled him to the side, shuddering "Be careful, Sandburg. I once saw someone get between Brown and the last jelly doughnut on the cart. It wasn't pretty. Rafe still walks with a limp."

"Laugh if you must, but see if I let you have any of my mama's homemade apple pie," Brown replied sternly, but couldn't hold it, beginning to laugh.

Blair laughed with the two of them, then asked, "how's your mom doing, H."

"She's doing real fine, Hairboy. Thanks for asking. Ms. Pearl never lets anything keep her down for long."

"Great. Glad to hear it." Blair held up a casserole dish and the present he'd brought. "Where do these go?"

"Food over here and gifts over there," Brown said pointing to opposite corners of the room.

Blair walked over to the food table and nestled his dish in with the abundant fare already there. Brown barely waited for him to remove his hands before he lifted the lid and gave it a sniff. "This isn't that Tofu Surprise you tried to foist on us at the last poker game, is it?" he demanded.

Blair snorted. "No. Just plain old Potatoes Au Gratin."

"Good," Brown said approvingly. "Then you can have pie."

"Thanks, Henri," Blair said as if greatly relieved.

Grinning, Blair turned around, looking for his partner. He found Jim talking to Simon by a small artificial tree that had been set up against the wall. It was covered with an eclectic assortment of ornaments and a string of colored lights. A respectable pile of gifts surrounded the base. He walked over to join them.

"Wow, Simon! This all looks incredible," Blair enthused as he joined them.

"Not bad for a bunch of flat-foots," Simon replied. "Well, I think I've kept Brown waiting long enough."

He cleared his throat loudly and announced to the room in general, "Okay people!. Now that everyone's here, dig in. The buffet..is..open!"

The team of detectives fell on the food like locusts on a corn field, piling their plates high. Simon cleared his throat, again, and a hole was opened, allowing him to exert Captain's privilege and load his own plate before the table was completely decimated.

Jim and Blair wisely stayed where they were, out of the fray. Jim placed his arm around Blair's shoulders, pointing at the ravenous horde.

"Better not wait too long, Sandburg. I've seen those guys pick a turkey to the bone in seconds," Jim said.

"I'm afraid I'll get trampled in the stampede," Blair replied. "I think I'll go put my gift under the tree. By then, the herd will have thinned enough for me to sneak my way up to the goodies."

Jim watched as Blair set his gift under the tree, then pick it up and place it somewhere else, then reposition it again, as if searching for the perfect presentation. Finally satisfied with its placement, Blair turned toward the food, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the tasty morsels to come. As Blair threaded his way toward the table, several of the men and woman milling around mumbled greetings to Blair around mouthfuls of food. Blair loaded his plate as he replied to each one, eliciting lots of smiles and laughs among the bullpen crowd.

Jim took another look at the Christmas tree. His Sentinel sight could easily make out the tag on Blair's gift. "To Simon, from Blair". Smiling, Jim let his senses drift on the atmosphere of the room - the tree, the gifts, the food, the people, Blair moving among them, accepted despite his off-beat look and personality. Jim realized that it all felt normal...natural...right. As it should be.

The End


End file.
